A Day in the Life
by olehistorian
Summary: Following a day(s) in the life of our favorite butler, housekeeper, and those with whom they cross paths. Set in 1927 during what would be Series 7. In response to Chelsie-Fan's prompt for Series 7 that we will not be getting. It will be updated each Sunday at the regular Downton Abbey viewing time. Canon.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is in response to Chelsie-Fan's prompt for Series 7 that we will not be getting. I've loved the other participant's submissions so far! This was originally submitted on Tumblr and I've had the chance to clean it up some so I'll post it here at the time that we'd normally be watching Downton – 9pm in England. It will be updated weekly and then a Christmas Special.

This first chapter is dialogue free but the rest will not be. It is more of a set up chapter and because I wrote it last minute to get it in under the deadline so it has no dialogue.

Also, the format of this short story will be different for me. Right now, as I am mapping it out, it will be a day in the life of our butler and housekeeper and those in their path. Sort of like the TV series '24' or perhaps individual days we see them out and about, etc. So we will see how it works out. The Christmas Special will be a supplement and not part of the original 8 chapters, just like in the Downton universe, but of course it will tie in.

Thanks for going on the adventure with me.

* * *

They take breakfast together. For her a piece of buttered toast and coffee. For him a bowl of porridge, toast, and two cups of coffee expertly prepared by her hands. Amiably, they sit across the table from one another and discuss their plans for the day which include the counting of linens, the inventorying of cutlery, and purchasing and inventorying of wine. The conversation is much the same as it has been for more years than either can remember. Even though she accepts change easier than her husband, the consistency of their breakfast conversation is comforting in a changing world.

As she waits on Charles to finish his last spoonful of porridge, Elsie finishes dusts the last crumbs off fingers onto her napkin and drinks down the last of her coffee. She'll likely have another cup waiting for her when they reach they Abbey and she steps through to the kitchen for an early morning chat with Mrs. Patmore. Her mind already runs a mile a minute with questions to ask about the cook's budding friendship with Mr. Mason.

When Charles finishes his breakfast she collects her plate and then, with a gentle smile that he returns in kind, her husband's bowl and cup.

Standing at the sink Elsie rinses off their morning dishes and Charles takes a moment to take in this lovely picture of domesticity that he grows to appreciate more as the days go by. The words that he spoke over a year ago in front of their wedding guests come to mind once again. He still cannot get over that she is his wife; that a woman of such style and grace would entrust her happiness to him. Slowly, he moves behind her and encircles her waist with his hands as he leans into her. Pressing a kiss to her neck he says nothing. Where once words or perhaps an act of kindness were ever all they were allowed to express for one another now, closeness, touches, kisses, and intimacy convey all the love and appreciation that he feels for her. His cheek then pressed to hers, he feels her cheeks widened into a smile of affirmation. She is his and he is hers for as long as life allows.

Coats fastened and hats secured into place, they walk the green and gold pathway to the Abbey. They've walked it so many times before and though each time is different, a rabbit darting out of the bush to greet them, a bird calling in a sweet song, or a lovely butterfly flittering along beside them, somehow their walk is always the same. She walks beside him, him shortening his stride just that little bit so that she may keep up. They talk of mundane things, of important things, and of future plans. He looks down to find twinkling eyes. Sometime he finds mischievous glimmer there. Perhaps he hears a teasing retort or comforting words; she knows just the thing he needs when he needs it. When she looks to him she sees loving eyes and a beautiful man. Inside and out. He may be an old curmudgeon. She told him that once, but she sees beyond that, sees the man he really is. A kind, loyal, honest, and passionate. man. A man she loves beyond what she ever dreamed.

Charles walks her to the servant's entrance and doffs his hat. Elsie reaches up, places her hand on his shoulder, and places a kiss to his cheek. He smiles and bids her a good day and she returns the sentiment. She tells him to take care as he catches the bus to Helmsley and then walks to their house. She tells him to make sure that he doesn't hurt himself lifting the wine crates as he takes them into the house and that he doesn't fuss too much over the cutlery. That it will never match the quality of that at the Abbey. She reminds him to check that the maid's quarters are ready and that they will make a trip next Monday to interview the girl who will run the house for them. He rolls his eyes and reminds her that just because he's retired he still knows how to run a house. She places her hand to his cheek and her fingers slip along his jaw. She smiles at him fondly as she replies that she as well as anyone knows that.

Charles tells her that he'll return at six to walk her home so that they may share supper together. The Carsons are grateful that Miss Baxter is gradually taking over more responsibilities and they've their evenings to themselves now. As Elsie watches her husband walk over the brick courtyard and past the gate, she looks forward to when he will collect her for their walk home.

* * *

Thank you for reading. A review would be lovely.


	2. A Talk

A Talk

The cook is bustling about the kitchen with an irritability that the housekeeper hasn't seen in years, and poor Daisy has caught the sharp edge of her tongue more than once. Mrs. Hughes is sure of the reason for her friend's distress because she felt much the same way after Mr. Carson asked for her hand and she accepted him. Elsie knows that Mr. Mason's increased presence in the kitchen and his invitations for Mrs. Patmore to visit the farm more often can mean only one thing; that he wishes to court her sometimes cantankerous friend.

When Elsie hears Mrs. Patmore tear a strip off Andy for not getting the tea upstairs quick enough, she decides that it is time to intervene. She knows that the household just cannot continue to function with a high-strung cook hurling unnecessary and unwarranted insults at Daisy, Andy, and even at Thomas.

"Mrs. Patmore, when you have a moment," Elsie calls from the doorway of the kitchen. She dares not venture too far into Mrs. Patmore's domain on the chance that she perhaps might hurl a verbal insult her way.

A moment later, after the housekeeper has slipped back into her parlour and settled comfortably at her desk, she hears the rustling skirts and the heavy footsteps of her friend nearing her doorway.

"You wanted to see me?"

With a quick snap of her wrist and a flex of her slim finger Mrs. Hughes motions for Mrs. Patmore to close the door and take a seat at the small table. She hasn't tea or coffee to offer but suggests a glass of sherry instead. When Mrs. Patmore refuses, Elsie opens the bottom desk drawer, reaches to the back of it past files and a menagerie of papers, to carefully withdraw a bottle of single malt and two glasses. She pulls the cork from the bottle and pours them both a "wee dram."

"What is wrong?" Elsie asks as she presses the glass of amber liquid into her closest friend's hand.

Mrs. Patmore remains tight-lipped. She's not ready to discuss these matters with anyone. She has accepted that she would remain an old maid for the rest of her life. The fact that Mr. Mason is now calling on her is almost more than she can wrap her mind around. Yes, she is jealous of Mrs. Hughes. Jealous that she has Mr. Carson. Jealous that they will grow old together. Jealous that they have certain marital _privileges_. Now that these possibilities are swirling around her she is feeling unsteady and unsure.

"I believe that I know what the matter is, and I can assure you that you needn't worry so. Mr. Mason is a good man with the most honorable intentions." Mrs. Hughes tries to soothe, but Mrs. Patmore is having none of it.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't you?" The housekeeper's patience is thinning as she shifts in her chair. Her posture straightens, and she takes a sip from her glass to wash back the words that she would like to say to Mrs. Patmore. _Come on out with it. You're frightened that Mr. Mason wants to marry you._ But then she sees how unsettled her friend is and remembers the unnecessary heartache that she put Mr. Carson and herself through because of her own self-doubt.

"If Mr. Mason wishes to court you …"

"Even you said that any man of his age who wants to court a woman wants only one thing. A wife!" Mrs. Patmore interrupts as she stared down into her glass.

"And wouldn't you like to be married. Mr. Mason is such a nice man."

"But he's been married before. He'll have expectations. Comparisons to how his late wife ran a house and …" The cook's voice trails off, but Elsie knows exactly what Mrs. Patmore means. When she was worried over Charles's expectations, she only worried over what her body might look to him; she had not worried over the act of their intimacies together.

"Mrs. Patmore, Mr. Mason has been a widower since before the war. I'm sure that he could have remarried long ago but didn't. He's _chosen_ to court you. If you'll accept."

Mrs. Patmore lets out a pained sigh and her brow furrows in concentration as she ponders Elsie's words. Elsie thinks that she might finally be gaining the cook's trust, so she continues on in the hopes that she might finally convince her that courting and possible marriage could be a beautiful thing,

"Mrs. Patmore do you remember the discussion we had a little over a year ago about this very thing except I was the one worrying?"

"Yes, I do," Mrs. Patmore acknowledges.

"Well, if Mr. Mason wishes to marry you and it appears that this is his intention, marriage is a wonderful thing," Mrs. Hughes assures her with a bright smile.

"I am fond of Mr. Mason, very fond, but I'm worried all the same. I don't know him as well as you knew Mr. Carson, and then there's what comes after the marriage …" Elsie extends her hand and gently squeezs that of her friend's.

"Mrs. Patmore, you'll get to know one another and then as for what comes after marriage," Elsie pauses to reflect with a gentle smile "is very special and lovely between two people."

When Mrs. Patmore left Mrs. Hughes's parlour that afternoon, she had come to peace with the idea that Mr. Mason wished to court her. She still had some doubt, but Mrs. Hughes had helped her to see that love was nothing to be afraid of at any age.

* * *

Later that night when they switched off the bedside lamps, the cottage is quiet, and the only sounds they hear are their own breathing and the mating call of crickets outside their bedroom window, Elsie tells her husband of her convsersation with Mrs. Patmore. When his head rests on the soft spot just below her breasts and his fingers tiptoe along her bare thigh, then flex gently around her hip, that he's peaceful her with her, resting like this their bodies entwined as one speak volumes as to how far they've both come from the people who'd guarded their hearts for so many years. When her fingers thread through his mussed hair, the moonlight that peeks in the window catching on the silver filaments that distinguish him as a man some age and wisdom.

"You know that Mr. Mason wishes to court Mrs. Patmore."

Her voice is still and quiet, and Charles isn't sure if she's making a statement of fact or if she's asking a question to which he should respond. He has noticed that on the days that he has accompanied his wife to the Abbey when the new Butler has asked for his assistance in selecting the appropriate wine for a special event or his expertise on just who should be seated next to who at a dinner party, that Mr. Mason has that special twinkle in his eye when he is paying a visit with the cook.

"I suppose so," he answers matter of factly.

"Do you think that perhaps I should invite them for supper one night …"

"Elsie I'm not sure that we should interfere," he grumbles. She feels his disapproval not only in the choice of his words but how the commanding timbre of voice vibrates through her body.

She takes a deep breath before soldiering on.

"Charlie after what I put Mrs. Patmore through – after what she did for us – I owe her." Charles feels Elsie's fingertips leave his hair, and their warmth suddenly trails down his shoulder and then across the ridges and valleys of his ribs. She feels him flinch just the tiniest of measures, and she smiles; she discovered that her mountain of a man is still a boy in some ways. That he is ticklish along his ribs and when she bakes a cake or a pudding he dips is finger into the bowl and then brings it to his mouth to taste the batter. These are the things that make her overlook the curmudgeon in him.

She's determined to bring him around. What was it Mrs. Patmore once said? _Everyone knows that you can wrap him around your little finger._ She hates to use manipulative tactics, but she must pull on his heartstrings.

"Charlie, what if she hadn't helped us? Where would we be now? Not here, not like this."

She heard him groan and then place a kiss to her navel before he shifted to hover above her. For a moment he said nothing but only looked into her eyes before closing the distance and capturing her lips in a demanding kiss.

"You are a plotter, wife," he murmured against her lips.

Three days later Mr. and Mrs. Carson entertained Mr. Mason and Mrs. Patmore at their cottage.

* * *

Thanks for reading. A review would be lovely.


	3. Scamp

My late contribution to S7

* * *

September 1926

The day is winding down, and Elsie is tired. She's reconciled accounts all afternoon, finally clearing her desk of what seemed to be a mountain of paperwork, and filed it all away into the appropriate drawers in her filing cabinet. She's also disposed of the papers in Mr. Barrow's basket and finds that the young butler is not quite as organized as his predecessor and she's having a bit of trouble reading his handwriting. Her husband's pristine, bold script was much easier on her aging eyes. She knows that it'll not be much longer before she sees Dr. Booth for some spectacles in the hopes of making Mr. Barrow's small, messy script easier to read. Perhaps then, there will be some relief for the headaches that are becoming more frequent.

The Crawleys haven't been to London as much as they have been in the past and since selling Grantham House in June when they do travel to the capitol, they stay with Lady Rosamund. They haven't _done the season_ in a few years now, so the deep cleaning has been a complicated process, but Lady Grantham seems to understand. Nevertheless, Elsie doesn't do things by halves and with only two house maids, the standards by which the Abbey has always been run aren't quite what they used to be, and it niggles at her. More than once she's noticed _The Old Bat_ run a gloved finger across a table or picture checking if the maids have dusted. Elsie feels her ire rise every time she sees the old woman turn her finger over and frown, dust her fingers together, and flick her wrist in disgust.

Sometimes she wonders why the Dowager ever promoted her from head housemaid to Housekeeper; she's always suspected that it had to do with Mr. Carson and the former housekeeper, Mrs. Owen. Elsie was sorry when the old Earl died but privately felt relief when the Dowager removed to the Dower House and Her Ladyship assumed the helm. Though her work was just as demanding, her daily meetings were much more congenial.

Today's been a tiring day and Elsie wonders if it's not the time to hang up her keys and join her husband in retirement. She knows that she is still capable of doing her job in the sense that she's mentally fit enough, but she is ready to spend time with Charles. She thinks of the time they have left, just the two of them. They have had thirty years together, but they've only had a year and a half together as man and wife, and that is what she wants to enjoy. She covets the time that they have at home sat around their table, enjoying a meal together. He's finally conceded that lamb and bubble and squeak can pair nicely together. She relishes the quiet moments when no words are needed as they silently read their books nestled together in under the warm covers of their bed. She thinks of the times when the books are closed and put away, the lamps switched off, and Charles begins to kiss her and unbutton her nightgown; those times are the most special.

She once told him that they are getting on.

And they are.

In all sorts of ways, she thinks, a blush flushing her cheeks. Getting on like a house afire in their little love nest.

She wants to retire and enjoy all of her time with him.

When she's put all of her papers away and bid Mr. Barrow a good afternoon, Elsie puts on her coat and fastens the buttons. Somedays Charles cannot complete this simple task. And sometimes she feels guilty that she is not home to help him. To ease his frustration over the things that he cannot do. To comfort him when his pride is damaged and to reassure him when he feels that he is a burden to her.

But she worries.

She worries that if she retires that they will not be able to afford to keep Becky at the rest home.

And what if she has another health scare?

She worries about him.

She worries that he is lonely at the cottage every day. He attends village council meetings and meets a few men at the pub sometimes, but the Abbey took up so much of his time, his life. She worries that he may not keep busy.

But she thinks that all of this worry is because she's tired, tired of working, tired of rising every morning with chickens as her mam used to say, tired of focusing on the running of someone else's house and of their happiness. It is time to enjoy her life. Her life with him.

She's made up her mind.

She'll tell Lady Grantham tomorrow and put an advertisement in the papers and perhaps close out her tenure as a housekeeper in a few months.

* * *

Charles walks the house once again to check that everything is in order. It's the third time this afternoon that he's done so and he knows that if he doesn't leave soon, he'll barely make the last bus out of Helmsley. But Charles is determined that when they open the guest house next week, everything goes off without a hitch. He certainly doesn't want scandal attached to the house akin to that which plagued Mrs. Patmore's establishment. A house of ill repute. He cringes at the very thought of such a thing. After all, he has a reputation around this part of the county for his work at the Abbey and though he's retired he'd never want to bring shame to his former employers.

Or to Elsie.

He is well aware that she thinks him more concerned with what the Holy Family, as she calls them, thinks or what people think of them than he is of her. She is right that he cares about them, but she is wrong if she thinks that he chooses them over her.

Perhaps once. But no longer.

They belong to one another now. For as long as God allows which is why this house must be perfect. Elsie deserves his best and Charles feels that she doesn't always get it. He knows that he's been sharp with her. When his fingers refuse to work, when he cannot button his shirt or knot his tie, and when he cannot hold a pen to write a letter and refuses to dictate it to her when she kindly offers to help.

But, he loves her.

He knows that she understands. She always has.

 _You are my curmudgeon_ , she's told him, _and that makes all the difference_.

He worries about her.

He knows that she's tired. He sees it in the way her shoulders slump when she takes her corset off every evening when its stays are the only thing holding her aching shoulders in perfect posture. He's taken to rubbing liniment into them when she's especially tired, rubbing the knots out of the muscles and when she sighs in appreciation his heart soars that he's made her happy. And this is why the opening of the guest house is so important to him. He wants her to be happy and not to worry. Charles doesn't want her to think that she has to work until she drops because palsy force him to retire; because they need her to earn. He knows that she fears they cannot afford Becky's care. And he wants both Elsie and Becky taken care of should something happen to him first.

He also wants her to retire. In comfort.

The time has gotten away from him, and he fumbles for his pocket watch, struggling with trembling fingers to open it. He realizes that Elsie has already left for home and he's not called to tell her that he'll not be at the Abbey to meet her. _Surely she will realize that I'm running late_ , he mumbles under his breath.

He'll not be satisfied until he's dotted every "i" and crossed every "t," so Charles completes his inspection and he passes through each bedroom and lifts the counterpane on each bed to check that the maid tucked the sheets with the sharp corners that he expects. Logically he knows that Elsie checked this herself just a few days ago when she was ticking off all the housekeeping items with Gladys, the girl they hired to run the place. When all seems well, Charles makes his way back downstairs and straightens chairs that do not need straightening in the dining room and measures the white linen table cloths making sure that they hang evenly on each side of of each table.

Suddenly he hears a crash just outside the kitchen and in the back garden. When he looks out the kitchen window, Charles finds several crates that the workmen had stacked overturned and scattered in a small pile in the yard. Wrapping his hand around the door handle and jerking the kitchen door open forcefully, he scans the back garden.

"Who's there?" Charles bellows in his most authoritative voice.

When no one answers, Charles asks the question, again and again, receives no response. Assuming that perhaps the workmen stacked the crates incorrectly or the wind blew them over Charles steps outside the house and begins to pick up one crate and then another. After he moves the second, out of the corner of his eye, he sees something move and hears a tiny whimper. Charles looks a little closer to find the culprit behind all of the commotion.

"Well, what have we have here? So you're the little scamp that's caused this mess."

Charles bends down to scoop up the tiny black and white pup with the floppy, curly-haired ears and the button nose. The little thing fits snugly into one of his hands, and Charles pulls him in close to his chest and smoothes a finger across the pup's head.

"Where's your mum? Hmmm?"

He sets the pup down and finishes stacking the crates while the dog plays around his feet nipping at his shoe laces and the back of his trousers. Charles knows that he shouldn't, that Elsie may not like it, but he just can't leave the little one abandoned.

* * *

"Now Elsie. She was all alone, and her mother was nowhere around. Would you have wanted me to leave a defenseless pup alone to starve to death?"

Hands firmly planted on her hips and a sharp glare for her husband, Elsie stands in the middle of their kitchen as the little springer spaniel runs circles around the cottage. Charles looks at his wife rather sheepishly.

Between them lies a puddle.

"If you think that I am cleaning that up … In my day I've cleaned enough dog … I am not having a dog in my house." Elsie is furious that her husband has brought a dog into her house. She hasn't time to clean up after a demanding puppy, clean house, cook meals, and keep up her duties at the Abbey. _Surely the man must understand this._

Elsie says nothing further as she makes her way to the linen cupboard to find a suitable flannel and then retrieves a pot of floor soap from the kitchen cupboard. Firmly placing them in Charles's hands, she silently challenges him to get to the task at hand. Naturally, he grumbles a bit. Charles is a man after all, and a Victorian man at that. And though his wife has tried valiantly to drag him into the twentieth century, he feels that it is not his place to do such things, just as it isn't his place to cook and make beds.

Watching him bent over the small puddle, the mess that the dog made, and muttering his consternation, Elsie cannot help but smile just a bit.

"So what's her name? she softly asks as he rises to his feet, his knees clicking.

"I thought perhaps Scamp since she seems so full of energy and since she caused such a commotion at the guest house," he offers hopefully.

"Hmmm. Set the flannel outside the back door and I'll wash it out after dinner," Elsie offers. Charles wonders if his wife might be coming around to the idea of keeping the dog.

As Scamp races down the stairs from the bedroom and hits the landing with a thud, Elsie laughs and calls for the dog to come to her.

"Come here girl," she calls, clapping her hands together. "Let's see if you've hurt yourself."

Elsie gasped in surprise as Scamp leapt into her arms and began to nuzzle into the softness of her neck. Elsie cannot help but cuddle the little pup close, rubbing a hand along the silky fur of her back.

"I see why you've won Mr. Carson's heart," she confides. As she cradles the dog in her arms, Elsie walks the dog around the sitting room and gives her the "rules of the house." Charles, watching them from the kitchen, looks on with fondness. If Elsie is like this with a pup, he wonders what life would have been like with grandchildren roaming about.

"I take it that she can stay then?" Charles asks.

"She can stay," Elsie turns to face her husband her eyes fixed with a stern glare, but her lips are turned upward in a slight smirk. She knows that Charles has been lonely in the months that he's been retired and she has continued to work. Perhaps he needs a companion and Scamp is the answer. Charles can pour his time into her, train her, teach her to be obedient, to sit, stay, and flush game. She'll sit at his feet, listen to him read, walk with him around the estate, and fetch the cricket ball when it goes awry. She'll be a companion to them both.

"But you must train her. I'll not have her making messes in the house. I'm retiring from cleaning these types of messes," she adds matter-of-factly.

Charles eyes open wide and then the penny drops.

She's retiring.

Soon.

* * *

Thank you for reading. Perhaps we will see Scamp again who knows. :)


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